


slow down (we've got time left)

by clobf



Series: office supplies [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Feelings about Office Supplies, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Pre-Season/Series 01, the warning is on the safe side: it's just a side effect of writing about tim and sasha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:22:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23816086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clobf/pseuds/clobf
Summary: “Is that allowed?”“The piercings? Technically. My devastating good looks? Absolutely not”“Rolling around like that on the chair.”Jonny Sims said "office chair" in MAG 162 and Lizzie made a post about it and then I had to write this fic.
Relationships: Jonathan Sims/Tim Stoker, Past Sasha James/Tim Stoker - Relationship, also hints of jonmartin and martim it's all very messy
Series: office supplies [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1767352
Comments: 73
Kudos: 241





	slow down (we've got time left)

_The majority of witness reports pertaining to Swains Lane revolve around a humanoid figure, estimated as between 6ft and 8ft tall. Sometimes it wears what appears to be a top hat and long coat, sometimes it appears cowled..._

The thing about an office job, even an office job researching the paranormal, is that it’s kind of boring. In theory, The Magnus Institute researches hundreds of fascinating cases that defy natural laws. In practice, however, Tim signed up to look for murderous clowns, and found himself spending most of his time reading online articles that his publishing house would have thrown out within about 5 sentences. He can feel his attention wandering rapidly, probably because he hadn’t cleared his head at lunch like normal, and lets his gaze drift around the office for a bit. It lands on Jonathan Sims. He’s short, and very properly dressed, and Tim hasn’t seen him speak more than two words to anyone all day, even when Jen and then Ali came over to ask about some report or other. He also hasn’t stopped for lunch.

Jonathan Sims is a bit of a puzzle. He’s been working at the Institute since before Tim joined, apparently always in research, and apparently without ever managing to get on a single one of his coworkers' good sides. When Gemma originally showed Tim around the office, she’d indicated Jonathan’s desk and warned him against “going to him for advice, he’s a fantastic researcher but a complete arse” and Tim, still fresh in grief and convinced at the time that he would be spending at most a few months at the Institute, hadn’t really questioned her.

Now, six months in and beginning to adjust to the idea that his revenge mission will be a long game, Tim has time to be curious about the co-workers he still hasn’t met. When the office seating had been rearranged (for strange bureaucratic reasons he hadn’t understood), he and Jon had ended up across the aisle from each other. He’d mentioned it to Sasha at the time, the two of them sitting in the gardens by Embankment eating out of tupperwares during a lunch hour.

“I just think it’s a shame we haven’t spoken!” he’d said, gesturing with a fork. “He must be the only person in Research I’ve never had a full conversation with, and I’ve been here half a year.”

Sasha had taken the opportunity to steal a mouthful of his lunch. “And what, he’s missing out on the blessing of your company?”

“Exactly! You’re the only one that truly gets me, Sash”

“...Sure. You know, he’s come by Artefact Storage a few times, and he didn’t seem particularly friendly. Are you sure he’d want to talk to you?”

“Ah, but you see-” he dodges her attempt at a second forkful of stolen food “-you don’t have the full Stoker Charisma. You have your own lunch!”

“It’s not as good! And what charisma is this? You nearly fell flat on your face last weekend coming out of that bar.”

“I was trying to open the door for you, and anyway, it’s all in the recovery!” he’d said, and the conversation had wandered away to other topics.

Tim had stopped in the nearby cafe this morning to get two of the sandwiches Sasha treats herself to, when “I’ve had too long a week to subject myself to my cooking”, but they’re still sitting on his desk, unopened. She hadn’t been at the entrance at one, and while it’s not like she’s never gotten lost in her research before, things are still odd between them. The signal is too patchy in Artefact Storage to text her, and Tim’s not sure whether to risk going to find her, in case she’s completely aware of the time and has just decided they need a bit of space from each other. So he eats his at his desk instead, reading another terrible article about a “man in a long coat” that has been seen by a number of people on Swain’s Lane, in Highgate.

_...not the only reporter of white shapes snaking out of the top gate; these have also been seen with the naked eye by unconnected groups of people, one accompanied by a dog which-_

No, Tim needs a break from this, and Jonathan still hasn’t moved from his position craning towards his computer screen, and he can't be behind on his work, no matter how unfriendly he might be. Tim lines up his office chair and rolls across the aisle.

Bump. In retrospect, that may have been a bit too much force, but at least he’d got the guy to look at him. Specifically with what seemed to be disapproval.

“Is that allowed?"

“The piercings? Technically. My devastating good looks? Absolutely not.”

“Rolling around like that on the chair.”

“Oh! Probably! I haven’t been told off yet, and also, it’s fun.” This was not exactly how he’d planned the introduction going, and Tim decides it’s time to course-correct before he loses control of the conversation completely. “Looks like we’re practically neighbours in this world of bold new office seating plans. Jonathan, right?”

“Um. Yes. Well, Jon.”

“Great! I’m Tim! Good to meet you properly, even if it is through a reshuffle which made almost no sense. If I didn’t need to understand them to do my job, I’d be really impressed at Elias’ ability to talk around the point in emails - it’s like an art form.”

Jon isn’t saying anything, but he also hasn’t told Tim to go away yet, so he ploughs on. “You can tell me to get lost, but I’m about to go take my lunch break.” He’s obviously already started, but no matter. “You haven’t taken it yet, and the break room's pretty empty. I even have a spare sandwich!”

Jon looks at him for a second. “I’m not really hungry, to be quite honest.”

“Oh, ok! The sandwich isn’t a requirement-”

“I have work to do.” He looks irritated, but the way he’s drawn back seems almost cornered, and Tim begins to suspect he’s come on a bit strong.

“Right, well, no worries! Let me know if you change your mind or if you just need to borrow some stationary! I have an excellent selection of novelty pens and comically oversized pencils. Nice to meet you, Jon!”

Tim rolls the rest of the way back to his desk, and manages not to bump into anything this time. The extra sandwich is still on his desk, and he picks it up and waves it slightly at Jon, to let him know that the offer’s still open. Jon just turns back to his screen and leaves Tim trying to work out the correct academic way to point out that a badly lit street surrounded by a cemetery and a bunch of gated communities is practically begging someone to mistake a tall guy in a long coat for a “ghost”.

Thursday sees attempt number two go quite similarly. Tim rolls over, Jon tells him that the office chair has to be a violation of some health and safety rule, Tim mentions lunch, and Jon says, “Surely you have actual work to be doing.”

“Yeah, plotting out a timeline of supposed “sightings” of this ghost which, get this, now has red eyes. I’m nothing if not thorough! But also food is important, and things like breaks. Even a coffee?”

“I might have a call from an institute in France coming in in a few minutes.” Jon’s gaze barely leaves his desk. The screen’s been abandoned today in favour of an alarmingly large pile of old newspaper articles, presumably from the library.

“Well, the offer’s open,” says Tim, and rolls away again.

On Friday, Jon must hear the sound of his chair across the aisle, because he looks up as Tim rolls in, bumping against the desk again. Tim grins at him and wonders whether he’ll initiate a conversation on his o-

“Did you need something, or are you just here to jog my writing?”

Success! Or at least, some sort of progress, and what might have been a joke. “Jealous you can’t wheel yourself around so effectively? No, I’m just heading to the cafe for lunch. Left mine at home, but Jen says they’ve got a great soup today, so all is not lost. Abandon not your hopes and dreams!”

“Right. Well, I’ve got something today, so.”

For a second Tim thinks he’s managed it, but it’s pretty clear Jon means to eat at his desk, and so Tim rolls away, and almost knocks right into Rachel coming back from an early lunch. He beams and apologises, and she laughs and keeps going, but when Tim looks back at Jon, he’s watching with one eyebrow raised, and a dry look, and Tim thinks, _nearly_.

Monday and Tuesday follow the same pattern, and Tim begins to be a little concerned that his role in this is ‘overzealous coworker harrasses innocent colleague’. On Wednesday however, there’s a break in routine. Tim’s spent the morning going back and forth on whether to try lunch with Sasha again, or whether he’s fucked that up beyond all salvation. He’s just decided that they should talk without a time limit and resolved to text her after work to meet as soon as they can, when a weight lands on his back and a mass of dark curls swings into his vision.

“Hello, dummy. You coming for lunch? I wasn’t going to try cooking but I did buy some biscuits with my meal deal,” she straightens up and Tim spins round to see her holding a Tesco’s bag and grinning down at him. “We need to talk, but we might as well have custard creams while we do.”

He’s so relieved that he doesn’t even think to look at Jon as he grabs his lunch. It’s only when he comes back an hour later, reassured in his friendship if a little disappointed, that he spots Jon’s head snap up briefly as he enters. Tim dumps his stuff at his desk, sits down, and shoves himself over to Jon’s desk, putting a hand on the back of Jon’s chair to steady himself on arrival. The contact spins the chair and Tim has to fight to keep a smile off his face as Jon comes round into view, looking extremely disgruntled.

“Sorry I’m late for our daily chat! I was tragically called away to lunch. I don’t suppose there’s any chance I've missed your lunch while I've been gone?”

“Did you subject the last person who sat here to this? Or have I done something?” Jon asks, but he seems to have relaxed a little.

"You’re just particularly charming,” laughs Tim, “So? Food? Coffee?”

“I did actually bring a sandwich today, but-”

“Call in the papers! Houston, are you seeing this? Jon Sims leaving his desk to socialise?”

“Your references are wildly incompatible. Anyway, you just took a lunch break and I was going to eat at my desk.”

“In which case, you’re not taking a lunch break, and I will gladly use yours in your place to sit and watch you eat. I’ll even get you a coffee.” Tim points at him, trying for somewhere between friendly and outright flirting. He’s not entirely sure what he lands on.

The corner of Jon’s mouth twitches slightly. “Only if you’re willing to stand up to get it.”

“You drive a terrible bargain, Mr Sims, but I will struggle through. One coffee - black?”

“I prefer tea, actually. One milk, one sugar?”

“Your wish is my command” says Tim, and heaves himself out of his chair with a groan.

They settle into a routine over the next few weeks. Tim spends his lunch break bothering Jon (his success rate at getting him to leave his desk is around thirty percent, although he’s yet to get him out of the Institute) and often, when Jon stays late to rework some report or follow up on some interview, Tim settles himself with his feet on his desk or swings casually on his chair looking over Jon’s shoulder, or sits at his desk, trawling through reports of haunted theatres.

Tim works out the best ways to start Jon on a conversation (1. Making wildly outlandish claims: _Hey, apparently if you recite the alphabet it helps you remember your train of thought_ and 2. Theorising on questions that he knows Jon will know the answer to: _Why is it that bananas taste nothing like banana flavouring? Like, did someone just fuck up really badly and no one wanted to tell him, or?_ ) and when it’s best to just ramble on in the background about coworkers Jon doesn’t really know ( _So Diana’s trying to cope with moving house and while this whole thing is going on, Bel just shows up…_ ) and when Jon gets tense and worked up over some records he can’t get hold of, Tim learns to tug gently on the arm of the chair until Jon turns away from the screen and wait until he settles a little to ask, “Hey, I’m going to miss my train soon. Wanna head out?”

Jon starts to leave a little earlier, and to reply to Tim’s nattering, and once or twice he even makes it to the cafe to join Tim and Sasha for breaks, once Sasha transfers from Artefact Storage, which she claims is “weird as all hell”, although he never joins them for their weekly lunch ( _I promise you won’t be intruding, she legitimately has questions about that article you mentioned_ says Tim, waving a sandwich in front of Jon as he leaves one week). While he never gets any better at remembering the office gossip that Tim scatters into his conversation, Tim arrives at work on his birthday to find a book on the history of mountaineering propped up on his keyboard. The post it note attached says _The receipt is inside, if you want to return it -J_ , and Tim feels suddenly, absurdly fond.

Tim also learns how to dodge the questions he wants to avoid ( _What made you move from publishing?_ ) with quick, casual answers ( _You have to complete a few more sidequests to unlock my tragic backstory, I’m afraid_ ), and when to see that Jon is doing the same ( _No, I’m not really doing anything for Father’s Day, it’s always seemed a bit.. Commercial. Do you know who I should talk to about tracking down census records from Ireland?_ ) He likes to think that Jon’s learning the same lessons about him, but it could simply be that neither of them like talking about family. He doesn’t know Jon’s reasons but he can’t shake the feeling of something slipping away as he broke down in Sasha’s bed after their first, and last, time together. She’s been kind and earnest and lovely about everything, but. Still.

Tim still rolls everywhere on his office chair rather than getting up, but now it’s at least twenty percent driven by the exasperated huff he hears as he wheels off.

///

The first time they kiss, Jon realises he’s mostly surprised it hasn’t happened before. They’ve stayed late again (something in the back of Jon’s head looks at the “they” and wants to prod it until it falls apart) and most of the automatic lights in the office are dark, so they’re being lit by Jon’s crappy desk lamp and the light of a webpage detailing the history of King’s College. Tim’s been reading over his shoulder. He gets like this sometimes, when he spots an article that properly interests him, quiet and focused. Jon, who’s never been able to sit still in his life, including when reading, can’t understand it.

Jon finds himself trying not to break the stillness, but eventually Tim notices that Jon’s stopped making notes and is just fruitlessly underlining random words and lifts his chin from Jon’s shoulder. “Missing something?”

“I think I need to print the ground plan for Somerset House, that way I can compare it with the-um-” Jon waves his hand vaguely at the desk next to him, where his research and his papers have taken root. One of the benefits of staying late.

Tim rolls sideways until he’s sitting at the desk in question and finds a stack of blueprints. “These?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“If you print it now I’ll grab it from the printer on the way back from making some tea.” says Tim, pushing himself backwards and walking his chair down the aisle towards the breakroom.

“See, you can’t even get into the breakroom in that thing. Why do you keep insisting it’s the best way to travel?” Jon calls after him, and Tim grins and spins at the door of the breakroom before standing to go in. His voice floats back out into the office behind him, along with the clattering of mugs and the kettle.

“If I didn’t know better, Jon, I’d think you had some agenda in your critique of my obviously superior method of transportation. Are you trying to lure me out of my chair to claim my place as Office Chair Champion Of The Office? The grand OCCTO? OCCOFO... OFCCOTO?”

“OCCOTO,” says Jon, after scratching it down on the corner of an article. “Or OCCO, I suppose. And since that isn’t a thing, it’s not my masterplan.”

“But you admit to a masterplan! I always knew that those dashing good looks hid a darker secret”

Jon laughs. “Someday your inability to talk to anyone without flirting is going to get you in trouble.”

“That’s the plan! And I stop if it makes people, like, properly uncomfortable”

“Anyway, last week you told me I was dressed in clothes no one had seen since World War Two.”

“I know, and it’s a travesty that you can do that to yourself and still look good. But we all have crosses to bear.” Tim comes back out of the breakroom, with a mug in each hand. He looks at the chair.

“Please don’t spill hot tea all over yourself just to make a point.”

“Technically, one of these mugs is hot chocolate.” Tim says, sitting down slowly.

“You are only going to hurt yourself here, just- Tim!”

Tim is rolling down towards the printer, slower than normal but not slowly enough to make Jon feel any better about the immediate future. He reaches it and transfers one of the mugs to the other hand, so that he’s got one free to collect the printed blueprints. He begins the journey back to Jon’s desk, humming the Mission Impossible theme as he goes.

“See, I’m an expert!”

“Tim, as much as it might shock you, I don’t intend on holding an office chair race at any point in the near future, so this display is completely unne-”

“Sounds like a challenge, to me” Tim’s grinning at him and it should be absolutely infuriating, it is absolutely infuriating, but it’s not, somehow. Jon has a sudden memory of Georgie slowly, deliberately, reaching out to ruffle his hair with a very similar expression on her face, and thinks _Fuck_.

Tim’s picking up speed now. “And he approaches the finish line! The crowd is going wild, that’s you Jon, all this training has clearly- ah, shit!”

Jon can’t help the laugh that springs out of him, as Tim stares down at the stain spreading down his shirt.

“I don’t know what you’re laughing about, that was as much your drink as mine,” Tim grumbles, walking his chair the remaining metre to Jon’s desk and handing over the papers. He sets the half empty mugs down on Jon’s desk.

“I’m afraid it was a worthwhile sacrifice to see you caught in your own confidence. How did you think that was going to end?” Jon turns back to his desk, still smirking.

“With you finally admitting the validity of office chairs as a mode of transport,” Tim says, going to rest his chin back on Jon’s shoulder. Jon spins back round to push him off, laughing again.

“Absolutely not, your shirt is soaking wet. And unfortunately for you, my issue with the chair was never how well you could use it, just the generalised lack of professionalism and the-”

“Can I-” begins Tim, and then Jon realises three things very abruptly. Firstly, that he hasn’t taken his hand off Tim’s chest, secondly that Tim hasn’t actually moved back at all, and thirdly, that Tim’s brought his hand up to Jon’s jaw. It takes him a second to react and Tim starts to move back before he does. He looks cautious, and Jon is certain that if he turned back around to his screen, they’d go back to their bickering without another word. He doesn’t turn back to his screen. He pulls on the edge of Tim’s chair to draw him nearer, and kisses him.

Nothing really changes in their dynamic after that, except that sometimes, now, when they’re both working late, Tim will wheel up to him and kiss him on the cheek, or gently take his chin to kiss him properly, and wheel away again before Jon can remember that “This is a workplace, what if someone comes in?”

Sometimes, now, after a long Friday, Jon will come back to Bromley with Tim, and they’ll watch murder mysteries and try and guess the culprit before the protagonist (Jon bases his guesses on clues, Tim on narrative structure), and Tone of them will cook something and they’ll lean into each other, easy and slow on an old sofa Tim bought from the British Heart Foundation.

There’s still a lot of conversations they haven’t had. Jon knows that Tim still goes out, still flirts with people and hooks up with people. He wonders if he should care (Tim asked, early on, around the time that Jon told him with his eyes fixed on the floor that they weren’t going to sleep together, if Jon wanted him to stop) and finds he doesn’t. Jon still hasn’t taken Tim back to his flat, can’t shake the feeling that if Tim sees him properly, neurotic and anxious and needing control, he’ll remember to run. They always go to Tim’s. There’s some photos of a young, handsome man that looks a lot like Tim scattered around, and Jon asked about them once and watched Tim’s face panic and then shutter into an easy grin as he changed the subject, and he never asked again.

Mostly, however, it’s safe, and good, and when Jon starts to take it apart in his mind, examine the sharp edges and poke at himself with them, he makes himself stop and thinks _t_ _his could be something_. Thinks, _there's room to grow._ Thinks, _we have time_.

///

Tim doesn’t really know what they are, but whatever it is has been happening for seven months when Elias calls Jon up to his office.

He comes back down looking pale and tense, and brushes right past Tim to get back to his desk. For the rest of the afternoon, Tim keeps sneaking glances over, but Jon seems determined not to look up from his screen no matter what. As the light coming in from the office windows fades, and the rest of the researchers pack up, Tim gives up on pretending to work, and swings idly on his chair, tapping at his phone and trying not to look at Jon with obvious concern. He gets the feeling it would not be well received. He’s started writing a text to Sasha to see if any explanatory gossip has filtered back to Artefact Storage, when he hears a soft squeak of plastic, and looks up to see Jon shuffling over in his chair. Tim doesn’t know what to say, so simply raises an arm in offering. Jon tucks himself underneath it, and Tim feels grateful for the first time to whoever skimped on furnishing the office enough to get chairs without armrests.

“Wanna talk about it? Or we could go back to mine? I’m out of food but we can get a takeaway from that Indian place on Plaistow Lane, if you want.”

“Apparently Gertrude Robinson in the Archives has gone missing.”

“Oh-OK? Did you know her?” Jon’s never mentioned her, but maybe-

“No, I’d never even spoken to her.”

“Right. Ok, so..?”

“Elias wants me to take her place.”

Tim’s first thought is _wow_ and his second thought is _Sasha_ and his third thought is _Jon_. He pulls him a little closer and asks, “Do you want to?”

“I… I’m not sure. I got the impression that it wasn’t exactly an offer, or at least that if I do turn it down, I’m probably going to be in this seat in this office for the rest of my time at the Institute. And it’s a massive promotion, technically.”

“Hey, what’s wrong with this seat in this office? It comes with a dodgy backrest and very attractive neighbour.”

“No, I didn’t mean-” Jon sounds almost desperate.

“I know, Jon, chill. Why aren’t you sure, then?”

“I- I didn’t even have to apply. There’s plenty of people that actually want this job, Sasha for one, and I don’t see why Elias decided on me.”

“What did he say?”

“That he was _impressed by my research skills_. Which, surely that would make him want to offer me a promotion _within research_? And I told him I wasn’t qualified, I even mentioned Sasha, and he just said it didn’t matter, _which it does_ , and-” Jon breaks off, and Tim sees his fingers are tapping frantically at his knees. He lets Jon go and turns to face him.

“How long do you have to decide?”

“Two days, which, again, seems very fast. I haven’t even seen any police around here, and surely if she’s disappeared they’d have come to the Institute?”

“Hey, maybe she’ll turn up again and it won’t even be a problem. But for now, why don’t you go home and sleep on it, or you can come to mine if you want? Either way, I don’t think staying here is going to be helpful.”

Jon nods, and seems to settle a little. “I think I’ll go home, if that’s alright with you. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Absolutely. And you know, if you do decide to take it, at least I might be able to get an answer when I email the Archives next.” He goes to pack up his things and watches as Jon does the same, pulling a coat on on his way out the door. “Hey, Jon? How much space is there down in the archives? Enough for a race track? What sort of chairs do they use?”

“Good _night_ , Tim,” Jon calls as he steps out of the office. Tim laughs.

He’s back home by the time Jon calls him. He puts his headphones in and keeps unpacking his shopping as he answers.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“I’ve been thinking. It doesn’t make sense for Elias to ask me, because they’ve got no idea where Gertrude Robinson is, and I don’t have the qualifications, and surely there must be somebody already working there even though, well-”

Tim puts the rice away and sits down at his kitchen table to wait for Jon to talk himself around to his point.

“-since he didn’t even advertise within the Institute, let alone outside of it, he must know that I’m not best qualified, but at the same time… If there was a way I could be sure he’d give the job to someone who deserves it, I’d turn it down immediately, but I’m not sure there is and-”

“Jon,” Tim cuts in. “If you’re trying to tell me you’re going to take the job, you can just say it. Like, I don’t mind listening to you talk it through if you need to, but you don’t need to justify it to me. It’s a great offer, even if it doesn’t make much sense.”

There’s a silence on the other end of the line. Jon’s still there, but he doesn’t say anything else, and Tim wonders if he’s misread the frantic rambling. He’s about to ask when Jon says, “There’s something else. Something I need to ask you.”

Tim sits up a little. “Fire away.”

“Apparently Gertrude didn’t have any assistants.”

“Really? I’m sure I’ve heard people mention some.”

“I thought so too, and when I started at the Institute, I definitely got the impression there was someone working for her, at least. But, Elias says she didn’t have any- I mean, actually he said there weren’t any left for me? At any rate, he said I could choose some. Assistants.”

“Oh, right-”

“And, well, you were my first thought, you and Sasha, but I wanted to talk to you before I..asked you and I don’t know if it would be welcome for Sasha, I mean, you said she was looking at Gertrude’s job, and I know she’s better qualified for it, and..” Jon trails off and Tim realises he’s waiting for a reply, so he puts _you were my first thought_ aside to pick at later.

“Ok well, first of all, I would be happy to come work with you in the archives, as long as you're fine with the fact that I’m even less qualified than you. Research is fine, but the archives sound interesting-” and might even have something on circuses, although that goal seems to be slipping further away each day, “-and I like working with you. I like spending time with you. And if it means working with Sasha too, all the better! And on that note, look. I think you should just ask her. Sure, she probably won’t be over the moon about Elias just picking people at random, but it’s not your fault, and she did say she thought working in the archives would be cool, even outside of the promotion. Plus, we could probably do with someone who knows something about archives. I mean, literally anything.”

“Right. I can, um. I can ask her tomorrow. Yes.”

“Anything else?”

“Well... Elias said I could get three assistants, and-”

“And you don’t know three people in this Institute, do you?” Tim is not going to laugh at him, but it’s very tempting. “I’m a little less honoured to be asked, now.”

“I do! I know three people. I just, I don’t know if I know anyone that- who’d want to work with me.” Jon sounds a bit defensive, and Tim decides to let him off the hook, for now. He’s had a long day.

“I mean, I don’t know who would be the most practical choice. Maybe ask Sasha,” says Tim. “But in terms of, who would I want to work with, what about that guy that’s just transferred from the library, Martin? I think his surname’s Blackwood? He seems friendly, and Hannah says he makes a great cup of tea, and there’s got to be some crossover between the skills you need to work in a library and in some archives, right?”

He’s also kind of cute and definitely seemed to have a crush on Jon at the last Institute Christmas party, and Hannah had said he seemed to struggle to make friends, but none of those feel like reasons that will sway Jon.

“Isn’t he a bit.. All over the place?” says Jon, and Tim hears the sound of a stove hissing to life in the background.

“Well, it’s up to you, that’s just a suggestion. So, you think you’ll take it? The job? Because if so I absolutely need to take you out for a celebration dinner tomorrow! I'm fed up of cooking for myself. What do you fancy?”

“Do you _need_ to, though?” asks Jon, and Tim takes it as a yes.

They move into the archives three days later.

///

“Jon, where do you want these papers?”

“What are they?”

“Honestly… not a clue. Martin reckons they might all be connected to that guy from the New Year’s party whose statement we found last week? And Sash says the footnotes Gertrude’s added line up with some she saw in the shelves earlier, but she can’t find them- AHA!”

Jon looks up from where he’s pulled his chair across to the office door with a different pile of unidentified papers in his lap and realises his mistake. “What’s w- No, Tim.”

“I _knew_ it! I knew you knew it’s smarter!” Tim’s grin is extremely ominous and Jon rapidly debates the pros and cons of turning around and wheeling straight back into the office.

“I was _right inside the door already,_ ” he says instead, as though logic will help in any way.

Over in the corner, Sasha looks up from where she’s setting up their wifi, since it wasn’t working when they arrived and Elias apparently didn’t deem it necessary to send anyone down to help despite multiple requests. It’s definitely not in her job description, and Jon should try and talk to her this evening to make sure she knows how much he appreciates it. Or would that be patronising? Should he push harder to get someone down or would leaving everyone without internet for however long it takes for Elias or Rosie to check their inbox be worse? Would-

He’s startled out of the gathering storm of questions by Tim grabbing the arm of his chair and pulling him closer for- what, a mock interrogation? “A likely story, Mr Sims! Sounds like a hasty cover up from someone who doesn’t want to admit I've been right this whole time!”

Right, talking to Sasha would come later, because step one was definitely averting whatever insane scheme Tim was brewing right now, before the whole team- Jon checks the other desk and sure enough, Martin has fixed his gaze so firmly on the folder on his desk that he has to be listening. So much for that.

“Doesn’t matter anyway! Cat’s out the bag now, boss, you were always just scared of my wheely-chair prowess!” Jon should definitely stop this now. All his frantic reading on management over the last twenty days or so suggests that while it’s important to be approachable, leading a team also requires a degree of separation.

But. He misses this.

“That doesn’t make any sense, Tim.”

“I’m sorry, what are we talking about?” that’s Sasha, coming over from the corner to perch on the side of Tim’s desk, looking... Well, looking amused actually, and more at Tim’s expense than at him. Although even if it had been at him, it would be better than the awkward way Jon’s been moving about her so far, and her determined sunshine in response. _I’m sorry_ , he wants to tell her. _I know you’d be better at this, in fact I really need your help_. The words keep sticking and he thinks she can see, so this relaxed amusement is a welcome change. Martin’s given up even pretending not to listen.

“Our dear boss here-”

“You can use my name, Tim, it hasn’t gone anywhere”

“Our dear _Jon_ here, spent months- Months! Telling me that rolling on office chairs was “impractical” and “probably a health and safety violation”, but as you all just saw-” Tim gestures dramatically at Martin, who looks surprised at being drawn in. Jon can relate. “-he is equally guilty of office-chair-related crimes! Clearly the only explanation, as I have long suspected, is that he knows I am a far superior user of these chairs! Intimidated by the sheer speed I can reach, which is understandable!”

Martin’s obviously trying not to laugh, and even Jon can feel a smile pulling at his lips even though _he really should stop this now_.

“Tim, this is ridiculous.” That’s Sasha to the rescue. Jon wonders if he can give her a raise. “ _Obviously_ , he was trying to save your honour because he’s an office chair champion.” Oh. Wait-

“He can’t be! I’m undefeated! There’s only one solution, and, Jon, we don’t have any superiors around unless you’re about to write yourself up.” Tim was already clearing boxes and folders and papers from the floor between the desks, and Jon should have a problem with it but, really, they could not be in any more of a mess than they already were, and the office feels more awake than it has since they first walked in.

“Wha-what are you doing?” asks Martin.

“A race! A race for our honour!”

“I really don’t think that’s necessary,” tries Jon, but Tim’s steering the back of his chair to the back of the room and his knuckles are warm against Jon’s back.

“Look, Elias hasn’t even sent anyone to fix any of the things we’ve needed fixing for two weeks, I can’t imagine he’s going to come down for a random check-in, and if he does just ask him when our ID cards are actually going to start letting us into the archives without Rosie coming down every day to sort it. Or just let me try my irresistible charm on him!”

“Somehow I’m not convinced that will work”, says Jon, dry, as Tim positions his chair at the “starting line”.

“You don’t think I’m irresistibly charming?” Jon is working very hard not to smile, because he knows it will lead to laughter. He has to maintain a semblance of dignity. “I’m sure you’re perfectly charming, but I don’t think Elias-”

“Jon, you’re making me blush!” Jon’s not sure what Tim spots over his shoulder but he narrows his eyes and points dramatically at Martin. “Martin! My fair lord, will you offer our brave knight a favour? We can make a tourney of it!”

“I’m not, er- Did tourneys include races?” Martin looks like a rabbit caught in the headlights.

“Does parapsychology include medieval history?”

“Does anthropology?”

Tim looks deeply offended, pressing a hand to his chest. “Occasionally! Come on Martin, he needs all the help he can get!”

Martin picks a pen up from his desk and offers to Jon. He’s gone bright red, which is fair because this entire situation is a little absurd. “Sorry, Jon.”

“No, um. I.. appreciate it?”

Tim turns to Sasha. “As we set off on this dangerous quest-”

‘It’s a quest now?”

“Shut up Sash, as we set off on this _dangerous quest_ , may I request a favour from you, my lady?” He bows low, sweeping his arm down, and Sasha giggles. She pulls her hair out of its green scrunchie and hands it over to him, and he tugs it down over his wrist.

“Understand this is only out of pity,” she laughs. “Jon’s going to destroy you.”

“Your support is appreciated, and I may never recover from your hurtful comments. Ready, Jon?” He grabs his own chair and lines it up next to Jon.

Before they can set off, Martin interrupts. “Shouldn’t- sorry, shouldn’t you both be in the same type of chair?”

“Pardon?” says Jon, more surprised at him cutting in than at his point. Tim can be quite an overwhelming force when he gets like this, and Jon wouldn’t have thought Martin had it in him.

Tim leaps up. “You’re absolutely right! Jon, switch chairs with Martin.”

“I don’t see why-” begins Jon, but it’s a token protest, and he’s already standing up.

“Because,” says Tim, dragging Martin’s chair over from his desk and pushing Jon’s chair into its place, “you have your big fancy chair with the nice armrests and the tall back, and us plebs only have basic chairs, and we don’t want anything except skill affecting this.”

Jon stares a little helplessly as Tim lines Martin’s chair up, and then over to where Martin’s now sitting in his chair. “I want that back, afterwards,” he says, and Martin looks like he might jump out of it again then and there.

“I-yeah, sorry, of course, um-”

Tim interrupts Martin’s stammering by pulling Jon down into his new chair. “He’s not going to eat it in the time it takes you to wheel a race, Jon, come on. Right, now we’re ready. Sasha?”

‘Noble knights!” calls Sasha, standing to the side of the “track”. “Your task is simple: first to pass the jammed printer that keeps screaming at us wins! There will be no pushing, pulling, or biting, _Tim_ , and participation is compulsory, _Jon_. On your marks! Get set! GO!”

Tim shoves off and skids wildly across the carpet of the office, while Jon rolls himself (faster than normal) along behind. In the split second as Sasha called the start, he’d decided that while he might be doing this, he probably can’t afford for his assistants to see him frantically shoving himself along in an old office chair during their second week.

“Come on, Jon!” calls Sasha, as they approach the corner of the room.

“You’re supposed to be on my side!” cries Tim, offended, as he grabs at the corner of Sasha’s desk, tries to swing himself round, and topples dramatically to the floor. In the time it takes him to get his chair standing again, Jon has slid neatly into place beside the printer. Martin stands up from Jon’s chair and claps, and Sasha rushes over to raise his arm above his head.

“We have a winner! The prize: eternal glory, proof of your skill with office chairs, and.. I don’t know, Tim will be the one staying late to dig out whatever you next need from the shelves downstairs?”

“I never agreed to that!”

“Hmmm, shouldn’t have crashed your chair, then, should you?” grins Sasha, letting go of Jon’s hand.

Tim pouts at her.

“I’ll try not to use my powers for evil,” Jon says, laughing properly now. Possibly this was a bad idea, but he’s willing to ignore a few management textbooks if it keeps the office this...light.

///

Later that evening, Tim wheels himself to Jon’s office door with a pile of police reports connected to some missing students piled on his lap. The door’s open, and inside, Jon’s holding what looks like a statement and spinning slowly in his chair. He looks completely engrossed in whatever he’s reading, and Tim watches him for a bit, mouth moving silently, Martin’s pen keeping a makeshift bun up, hair coming loose around his face. Jon's general neatness hasn't slipped since the early days at research, at least at work, and Tim hasn't seen him with his hair down all that much in all the time they've known each other. He'd been running late, this morning, though, and until the race had been keeping his hair back in a loose plait without a fastening. He hasn't realised he's being watched and the focus would be endearing if it weren’t so painfully obvious that whatever pressure had been released by their antics that afternoon has boiled right back up again. Tim straightens the papers and knocks on the door frame. “I think these are all to do with your drunk Scottish guy? But they weren’t filed together so I can’t be sure, and it needs a bit more research. We’ll probably have a full case by Monday. Maybe Tuesday?”

Jon takes a moment to disengage from whatever he’s reading, but when Tim’s words register he looks suddenly guilty. “Oh, God, Tim I didn’t mean for you to actually stay late, I know you said you would, but..” he trails off and Tim huffs a laugh and stands to walk over to him, depositing the reports on the desk as he comes round.

“Technically, Sasha said. And I wouldn’t have done it if I had plans. Besides, you’ve stayed late every day since we got here, Jon, you need to rest.”

“I know. I- I’m sorry.” Jon reaches out to catch Tim’s arm, but he doesn’t pull himself any closer. His hand just stays there, tracing anxious patterns into the fabric of Tim’s sleeve. “I still don’t know why Elias chose me for this, and it’s- there’s so much to be done and- I’m sorry.” He lets out a short breath and keeps staring down, not meeting Tim’s eyes.

“Hey. Hey, Jon, it’s OK to be stressed about this. Don’t work yourself up about getting worked up, just- take a break once in a while, alright? Look, c'mere- can I?” Jon nods at his gesture and Tim takes the statement from his hands, places it on the desk and gently tugs the pen out of his hair so that it falls loose. Jon looks up at him, and Tim feels him press into his touch slightly as his hands brush Jon’s scalp. He puts the pen on the desk and climbs up into the chair, kneeling up with his knees either side of Jon’s thighs, fingers combing lightly through his hair. It only works because Jon’s so much smaller.

“Tell me if this pulls. Look, why don’t you leave at a sensible time tomorrow, and we’ll go back to mine, or yours, and watch.. Something easy. Reruns of Morse? See if you can beat me _and_ John Thaw to solving a murder?”

Jon’s relaxing back into his touch, but still he says “I really can’t leave early tomorrow, Gertrude left such a mess, and Elias-”

“OK! Don’t worry, it’s OK. I’ll even stay and help. This weekend, though? Please don’t tell me you’re coming in on Saturday.”

The flicker in Jon’s eyes says that was exactly the plan, but to his credit he just settles deeper into the chair. “That sounds.. Lovely, actually. I do want to get better at… all this.”

“Great. I’ll even stay late tomorrow to help, although I should warn you that I think Sasha’s planning to suggest a weekly pub night, and I will be fully supporting her, so tomorrow may be your last Friday working yourself to the bone.”

“Hopefully.” Jon’s voice is dry. There’s a pause. “I’m glad she’s.. OK? With everything.”

“Yeah. She knows you didn’t ask for the job.”

Another pause.

There’s a lot of things Tim wants to ask him, right now, balancing carefully in this chair in this office that neither of them belong in. _Do you know Martin’s into you? Do you know Sasha’s not into me, like not at all? What do you want, Jon? Where on these shelves and in these piles do I find the thing that killed my brother? Did you know I had a brother? How does this filing system work? How can I help, Jon? Would you be upset if I asked Martin out for drinks?_

He does not say anything. He reaches to grab a handful of paperclips from the desk, and starts linking them up into a chain behind Jon’s head, forearms resting on Jon’s shoulders. Jon looks up at him, and brings his hand to Tim’s chin, and then further up to his earlobe, tugging very gently on the silver stud.

“You know, I checked the official guidelines.” Jon says, and he’s smiling, faintly, beneath the dark circles under his eyes. “I’m fairly certain these are not, in fact, allowed”

“The gender split is only implied, boss. And what about my devastating good looks?” Tim asks, trying for his best ridiculous pose while still holding the paperclips, and nearly toppling off the chair in the process.

“Strangely glossed over in the 2005 employee handboo-what are you doing back there? You’re about to fall off again.”

Tim makes a loop out of the chain, and places it carefully over the waves of Jon’s hair. “A wreath of laurels for the victor. Like Apollo. Or Daphne, I suppose.”

“I thought we were following medieval conventions?” Jon says, and there’s something fond in his smile now, something that feels like late evenings in research, before the archives, before the weird statements, before this thing with no shape started shifting.

“You’re right, there is a serious lack of continuity in this concept. Guess we’ll have to run an office Olympics next week! A 192-metre track might be hard to find-”

“Tim-”

“But I’m sure Sasha could take any of us in a wrestling match, she-”

“This isn’t going to be a weekly occurrence, Tim!” He’s settled his hand on Tim’s neck, though and Tim leans in and kisses him through his complaints. The movement sets the chair turning again, slowly, and they drift round like that, quiet. Tim pulls back after a minute or so.

“Hey, boss?”

“Hm?”

“Is this a health and safety violation?”

“Shut up, Tim,” says Jon, and pulls him back down, laughing, into another kiss.

A week later, Tim will roll in at lunch to find Jon glaring stubbornly at a laptop playing garbled static back to him. He will look pulled at the edges, beyond his baseline of overwork, and Tim will make a joke about an old tape recorder he’d seen lying around, try to draw Jon out. Jon won’t look up as he asks “Could you find it for me?”.

Two months later, Jon will send one of Martin’s reports back covered in red pen like a disappointed teacher. Tim will stay back after Friday office drinks to make sure Martin’s alright, and listen as Martin says that he’s sure it’s just the stress. He’ll invite him to come out on Saturday.

Five months later, Tim will tell Jon he needs to take a day off, “you’re running yourself ragged” and Jon will snap at him, and tell him that what he needs is the followup research on Laura Popham.

Fifteen months later, after the worms, Jon will ask Tim why he joined the Institute, and it’s weirdly curious. Tim will talk around the question, for reasons he won’t understand himself, and a week later he’ll see Jon on the pavement outside his house. He’ll wait for Jon to text, or ring the bell, and it’ll take him ten minutes to realise he’s not going to.

A year and a half later, Tim will see Melanie King struggling to get her hair out of her eyes as she studies a box of statements that the labels (his handwriting, alongside...is that Martin, writing at an odd angle? Jon, but very slanted?) claim are about war ghosts, and will offer her the scrunchie that’s been around his wrist for months. At some point he must have meant to return it to its owner, but he has no idea who that is. She will take it, and look at him oddly, and as he watches her put it in her hair, he’ll feel a confusing sense of irritation. It’ll still be with him, later, in Jon’s office when Jon will make a comment about his _tone_ , and he’ll find he can’t keep his temper in check.

_Three months after that Melanie will give the scrunchie back to him, left on his desk after she finishes recording Case #9830203, and he will take it home, and try to cry._

Two years and seven weeks later, the day before they leave for Yarmouth, Tim will come across Jon among the shelves of the archives. Jon will look like he’s about to run away, and Tim will want to laugh or scream, or-. Instead, he’ll look past Jon, and say “You should talk to Martin, before you go. He’s always liked you. And if we’re going to die, I’m not interested in being the last person you got with.” It’s blunt and Jon won’t have time to respond before he’s alone again, surrounded by statements.

Two years and nine months later, Basira, looking for a missing file, will find a circle of paperclips in Jon’s desk. She will ask him (“is this spooky-weird or Jon-weird?”) what it’s meant to be and he will realise he Knows a story he’s never been told, from a book of myths he’s never read and is _none of his business_

_**\- published in 1921 by- found in a charity shop down in- the stain on the second page of the Apollo and Daphne myth was from 1932 but the- a student who would be a politician spilled his- he hadn’t wanted to study law but his family- donated in 2009 by a man whose mother had been a- she had so many books he didn’t know where- bought as a gift for an important promotion to- the inscription on the front page written 2010- “To the man the myth the legend, keep making stories and don’t tell Mum I wrote in a book, see you next month, love Danny” for-** _

and he will think about Daphne, running and running and choosing to abandon her mortal life to escape the ~~man~~ ~~god~~ monster chasing her, and of Apollo wearing her leaves despite it all and say “It’s something I shouldn’t be holding onto. You can use them, if you want”

In the office, in the glow of the Institute’s energy-saving bulbs and a race well lost, Tim holds Jon tighter and thinks, _change can be tricky_. Thinks, _I can ask tomorrow_. Thinks, _we have time_.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote half of this fic spinning in an office chair and no one came to my house to kiss me, just saying
> 
> Absolutely massive thanks to babyyodablackwood on tumblr who a) inspired this, my first fic in seven years, b) encouraged me all the way through even though I write very slowly, c) essentially betaed it for me, and d) is generally a fantastic fandom presence. Also to Ind and Katie for letting me ramble at them (and letting me know I wrote Onstitute) , and Jem for reading it and being nice about it even though you don't know who these people are or why they're sad. 
> 
> Find me on tumblr! I'm crappylineofbestfit!
> 
> Some actual notes:
> 
> 1) Elias is absolutely capable of sending short and precise memos, he just likes watching his employees try and decipher emails that follow nineteenth-century correspondence norms. Similarly he could get someone to fix the office problems easily, he just likes Jon isolated.
> 
> 2) I have assigned Tim a flat in Bromley off Google Maps for the purposes of both this fic and the other one I'm quietly writing. If it's your flat, sorry.
> 
> 3) I owe an apology to the good people of Hidden Highgate, for making fun of their article on Swain's Lane here. It's nowhere near as bad as I've said.
> 
> 4) I have spent so much time trying to figure out the timeline, but I also originally wrote the entire first scene under the impression that Tim joined the institute first, so I'm sure it's wrong. (rip that whole draft) Specifically lmk if you know anything about Martin's life at the institute before the Archives, or how he was picked because I Do Not.
> 
> 5) The title is from The Gambler by Fun, and I listened to Stray Italian Greyhound by Vienna Teng on repeat while I wrote this. Both of those songs are actually on my Jonmartin playlist. Do with that what you will; I might be using it to write a JTM-based sequel, we'll see.
> 
> 6) Somerset House was extended by Robert Smirke.
> 
> 7) In my head, Martin is someone who watches mystery shows without trying to solve them, and in an AU where they sort their shit out, this is the biggest problem in the JTM relationship


End file.
